Breaking
by rock-the-casbah18
Summary: Hermione is a Cursebreaker, Draco a reformed enemy. What happens when Hermione takes a case at the Malfoy Manor, and bites off more than she can chew?
1. Chapter 1

**Breaking**

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and the like.

**A/N: **I'm in a writing mood today, even if it all turns out horrible.

"Well if it isn't muddy little Granger," a familiar voice drawled from the doorway of Hermione Granger's office. Hermione took a deep breath before calmly looking up and coming face to face with Draco Malfoy.

"Hm. Seems as if you've mistaken me with another Granger," Hermione said, scanning her shirt as if looking for something. "I'm rather clean."

"Ha, ha, Granger, very funny. At least you've improved a bit since school." Draco crossed the threshold into Hermione's office and plopped himself down into one of the brown leather chairs in front of her desk.

"If only I could say as much for you, Malfoy. Now, may I help you with something, or did you just miss me?" Hermione straightened up in her seat, setting her pen down and fixing Draco with a fiery glare.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Granger. It took every ounce of strength I have to drag myself down here to see you," Draco said icily, glaring at Hermione with equal intensity.

"Well, you must've missed me in that case. You've never been the strongest of men. I seem to remember you running to our side when you realised the Dark Lord had no problem with disposing of you," Hermione said smartly, one eyebrow raising, challenging Draco to deny her accusations.

"Do not speak of things you do not know, Granger." Draco spat out Hermione's last name before continuing. "I came to see you because I heard you're the best curse breaker this century has seen. I'm willing to pay whatever you request if you'll accept the job. Keep speaking to me as you were, though, and I'll make sure this is the last job you'll ever get."

Hermione knew better than to egg Draco on. Whether or not she liked it, after his betrayal to the Dark Side, he'd been practically redeemed within the wizarding community. He'd formed some sort of truce with Harry and Ron, and the three now had some sort of weird friendship. He'd taken over running his father's company when Lucius was quietly sent to Azkaban. Not to mention the fact that he'd been named _Witch Weekly_'s most eligible bachelor two years in a row. No matter how he may have 'changed', Hermione still was not one to call Draco a friend, and vice versa. It was unlikely that the two would ever get along.

"Okay, Malfoy, okay. What would you like me to help you with," Hermione said tiredly, picking up her pen again and twirling it idly.

"Well, as you know, the Manor's nearly four hundred years old. Seems that ever since father's been... sent away, certain rooms have become absolutely unreachable. I can't even get into half of the rooms in my wing of the manor anymore!" At this, Draco looked particularly distressed. "Besides that, the magic shuts on and off."

Hermione let out a bark of laughter. "The magic shuts off? Now really Malfoy, I've never even heard of that happening. Surely you're exaggerating."

"No, dear Granger, 'fraid not. There'll be times when nothing works. My wand won't cast any spells, the paintings stop moving, everything just stops. And it's been getting increasingly worse. Used to only last a few minutes, but I've had to go two days without magic!" Draco again looked distressed, and he ran a hand nervously through his platinum hair, mussing it to perfection.

"Alright, Malfoy, alright, just calm down. I'll come around tomorrow and take a look and see if I can figure out anything that's going on," Hermione said, standing up from her desk as Draco stood from his seat.

"Yes, well, I'll see you then. Around noon, if you would? Have a lovely day, muddy." And with those kind words of departure, Draco left Hermione's office without even a thank-you.

"Jesus," Hermione muttered, "what have I gotten myself into?"

* * *

"H-Harry?" A shocked Hermione stood in the doorway of the Malfoy Manor, staring at her best friend who had just opened the door to said Manor. "What the bloody hell are you doing at Malfoy's house, answering his door?" 

"Playing quidditch," a slightly breathless Harry replied, his cheeks flushed from his exertions. "Ron's out back as well. Speaking of which, I should probably get back out there before they kill each other." With a worried glance over his shoulder, Harry scurried away, leaving Hermione to follow his lead. She stepped into the Manor, jumping as the heavy mahogany door swung shut behind her. Hermione was barely a foot into the old manor and she could already feel the strong, ancient magic pulsing through the home.

Her sensible heels clacked against the black marble floor of the manor's foyer, the sound reverberating off of the dark walls. A huge staircase lay directly in front of Hermione, going straight for about twenty steps before branching off into two smaller sets of stairs. Hermione spun around lightly, taking in the grand room, complete with marble columns and priceless pieces of art.

"Never seen anything like it before, have you, muddy," the voice, that always seemed to be grating on her last nerve, spoke. Hermione turned to look at Draco, rolling her eyes.

"No, never. Actually, I've never seen something quite so horridly ostentatious," Hermione lied through her teeth. To be honest, the manor was turning out to be quite her dream house. Too bad it had to be wasted upon a spoiled ferret.

"Ostentatious? Yes. Horrid? Definitely not. I'm sure once I show you the rest of the rooms, you'll change your opinion." A door near the back of the house slammed closed loudly, and Hermione craned her neck to see Harry and Ron walking in, broomsticks in hand.

"Oh, hey Hermione. What are you doing here," Ron asked cheerfully. Hermione was immediately reminded of a floppy-eared puppy. Shaking her head to rid herself of the analogy, Hermione smiled back at Ron. "I'm actually here on business." Hermione shook her head again. "I still can't really believe you and Harry are here playing quidditch with Malfoy."

"Oh yes, because I'm so bloody awful, Granger," Malfoy piped up, rolling his eyes in a way scarily familiar to Hermione. "C'mon then, I haven't got all day." Malfoy strode over to Hermione, grabbing her by the arm and practically dragging her up the stairs. "I'll floo you later Harry, and Ron, well, I'm still better at quidditch than you."

Ron and Harry retreated from the house, with a few words better unsaid from Ron and a laugh or two from Harry. Hermione, who was still being manhandled, finally managed to wrench herself from Malfoy's death grip on her elbow.

Rubbing her elbow tenderly, Hermione said, "I know the Malfoys torture muggleborns, but I at least thought they saved it for the dungeon."

"Again with that sense of humour, Granger. My, I really have lucked out having to spend the afternoon with you," Draco said sarcastically, before continuing. "I closed the dungeon as soon as I got the place to myself, you'll be happy to know. Don't have to worry about the Rack now." Draco smirked at Hermione's disgusted face.

"Sounds grotesque,"Hermione said, following Draco down a dimly lit hall. The sound of Hermione's heels was muffled by the thick, navy oriental carpet, and the hallway became almost silent. Draco turned to a door on his left, opening up and ushering Hermione inside. She was greeted with shelf upon shelf of books, reaching from the floor all the way up, about fifteen feet, to the ceiling. A stone fireplace stood in one corner of the room, ashy and empty, surrounded by two ornate wingback chairs and a settee.

Hermione felt a calloused hand gently push her chin up to close her mouth. She hadn't even known it'd been open; she must've been gaping like a fish.

"I know, Granger, I know. It's the next best thing to heaven for you. That is, if this isn't how you picture heaven itself," Draco drawled, his timbre aristocratic as always. "Go on then, have a look around."

After the few initial seconds it took Hermione to process Draco's request, she moved to the first set of shelves as if in a trance, her steps slow and steady. Her slender fingers trailed over the smooth leather spines of ancient books, journeyed over the rare, thick tomes. Many of the books had mystifying titles, promising tales of the Dark Arts and instructions on the darkest of spells. Hermione was surprised, though, to find that many more were books she was very familiar with, muggle books. She found herself grasping a copy of _Mansfield Park_, pulling the book carefully from it's lodging.

"Full of surprises, aren't I, Granger," Malfoy asked knowingly, his eyes falling on the title of the book. "Father always said 'Know thy enemy.' Though I doubt that's the true reason we have so many muggle books in our collection. I don't really see how Jane Austen could have ever led to the rise of the Dark Lord." Hermione laughed softly at that one, and carefully placed the book back where it belonged.

"Are you ready to work now, Granger?" Draco smirked. "Or shall I leave you alone with the books?" Hermione rolled her eyes, and pulled her wand from her pocket.

"Right then, I guess I'll begin. I'll just perform a few simple spells, see how the room reacts to the magic." Hermione looked around the room observantly, Draco watching her closely, an amused look in his eyes. She muttered a few simple incantations, looking expectantly around the room. Nothing. One more time, and then another. The reaction was still the same.

"It doesn't work," Hermione spoke lightly, her brow furrowed in confusion. She huffed determinedly and pushed a stray brown curl from her face. Her amber eyes darkened and she began spouting off complex spells that Draco could hardly keep up with. Nothing worked.

"Did you honestly think I was having you on, Granger," Malfoy asked tiredly. "I told you that the magic simply cut off in certain places, certain rooms. You're lucky it's not the entire manor this time." He paused. "I had to make my own dinner last night," Draco continued quietly, his grey eyes cast down towards the floor.

"Oh my, you poor thing. For heavens' sake! What a torture you withstood, having to cook." Draco decided at this point that he was growing rather tired of Hermione's eye rolling habit. "Either way, I'm thoroughly stumped. I mean, as soon as I walked in, I felt it; the magic in this place is powerful enough to knock someone off their feet. But this room, well, this room just feels so blatantly normal."

"Well-put, Granger. Definitely couldn't have figured any of that out myself. I see now why I'm paying you good money," Draco said, his sarcastic tone biting and harsh.

"You don't have to, you know," Hermione retorted. "I'd be more than happy to be dismissed right now, if that's how you see it."

"If only you weren't the best. Believe me Granger, I want nothing more than for this nightmare to end. So let's stop the idle chit-chat, shall we? There are about five more rooms in this wing alone, and I don't exactly have a free-schedule for the evening."

* * *

Hermione was sitting silently, cross-legged on the floor of the library for the third time this week alone. Nothing worked, absolutely nothing. Draco had informed her that the magic had completely disappeared from the library approximately two days after her inspection, not even returning for a few minutes at a time. A large book was spread open in front of her, page after page of never-ending, Latin-inspired spell work. Her perfectly pink lips pursed and curled over every word, her tone monotonous and steady. The door to the library was opened cautiously, and Hermione barely blinked as Draco entered the room. 

She watched him studiously as he plucked a dark green book from a shelf's corner, thick framed reading glasses perched on the tip of his aristocratic nose. Her lips never stopped forming those familiar words. Hermione's eyes skimmed over him, noting his expensive charcoal grey slacks and white dress shirt, rolled at the sleeves. _Lovely forearms_, Hermione thought, her brown orbs following the path from his wrist to his elbow. Draco shifted his weight, and his other forearm, his left, came into view.

The words caught in her throat, leaving her choking before they died out.

Imprinted against the stark paleness of his forearm was an all too common black tattoo- a snake intricately weaving its way through a horrific skull. Hermione couldn't hide the gasp that escaped from her lips; she had known of his past, but she had never physically seen his mark.

"It's not polite to stare Granger," Draco said, the words failing to be as scathing as he would've hoped.

"S-sorry," Hermione mumbled from her place on the floor. Her cheeks heated in a pretty blush, and she turned her head back to her work. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco's approach. As much as she had been in his home in the past week, the two had avoided each other, and she barely spent any time in the same room as him. Hermione was very aware, however, when Draco crouched down next to her, carefully tucking his glasses away in his shirt pocket.

Her eyes flickered nervously over to Draco and she did a double take when she saw his arm, proffered to her. The blonde sat there, arm held out, waiting, watching. Gold eyes nervously caught silver ones, blinking quickly as if to secure the image behind her lids.

"Touch it," Draco whispered roughly, his own large hand grasping her tiny one. He tenderly brought her fingers to the soft skin of his forearm, holding them steady as she flinched at the contact. A whimper caught in her throat and her eyes shuddered closed. She could feel his blood, feel as it rushed hotly through his veins, could practically feel his pulse beating rapidly.

Blindly, she studied the mark with her fingers, feeling the smoothness of Draco's alabaster skin. Her eyes opened curiously, cautiously as a newborn's, staring at the mark before looking up into his eyes once more. They hadn't left her face the entire time, she realised. His own hand had released hers, and Hermione realised that her hand was now smoothing over his arm of her own accord. With that thought, Hermione pulled her hand harshly away from Draco, realising that they both were breathing heavily.

She stood and she ran from the room. She ran from the room and she ran from him. But mostly, she ran from herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Breaking**

**Disclaimer: **All credit goes to J.K. Rowling, not myself. Except, of course, the plot.

**A/N:** Oh my goodness, thank you, thank you and thank you! The first chapter has only been up for a day, and I've already gotten happy reviews! With all the positive feedback, I've decided to post my second chapter earlier than expected. Hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, at night, if he lay still enough, Draco could still feel it moving. He could feel it writhing sickeningly against his arm, calling him, dragging him down, down deeper into the rabbit hole. He would break out in a cold sweat and his arm would twitch aggressively, his body's subconscious reaction to the unwanted feeling. His eyes would close tightly enough to hurt and he'd take deep breaths while he told himself it was over, it was all over.

Despite the harsh rumours, Draco Malfoy was not proud of his past at all. Ever since he was young, he had known what was expected of him and what would happen if he failed to meet said expectations. Regardless of the other rumours, Lucius Malfoy was never an abusive father. He was cold, he was calculating, and he was completely emotionless. Never abusive, though. Lucius had made sure that Draco knew where his place in society was- at the right hand of the Dark Lord. For Draco, there was never a question of right or wrong, light or dark, just the knowledge that one day he would be a Death Eater and would carry out the tasks that accompanied such a title.

It was only after he hadn't managed to off Dumbledore that he began to question the teachings of his father. The Dark Lord was mad at him, furious with his incompetence and planned to punish Draco quite fully. Wouldn't that be the ultimate lesson for Lucius Malfoy? To kill his only son, rid him of the only person able to carry on the Malfoy name? When Draco realised what the Dark Lord had planned for him, he knew he had to escape. He had to escape the powerful cult he had been tricked into joining, escape a past of well-practised _Cruciatus' _and _Imperios_.

It was not easy, though, and it didn't happen immediately. There was no happy ending, no perfect solution to Draco's predicament. It had been the seventh time he had felt the snake and skull wriggling against his arm that he decided he couldn't do it anymore. He'd had one too many close calls and he knew that Voldemort wouldn't wait much longer to mutter those fateful words in his direction. That night, he had decided to find the Order of the Phoenix, and turn himself over.

Finding Remus Lupin had been difficult enough, especially with his mark still moving angrily on his forearm, reminding him that he had a previous engagement with someone much more powerful. Convincing Lupin that he wanted to change, though, was the most difficult task Draco had yet to face. He lost count of the amount of vials of Veritaserum poured down his throat once he had finally been allowed to enter Grimmauld Place. Everyone had interrogated Draco until he was worn paper-thin, but it had been Saint Potter who finally accepted him into the Order. Overall it was one of the better choices Potter had ever made; the final battle was closing in on the Order and this ex-Death Eater knew every single strategy and maneuver of the Dark Lord. He wasn't trusted though; Draco would never be trusted. He would be treated like the dirt that 'his kind' was, treated as if he was nothing. Only Potter showed him some sympathy, and for Draco, that was worse than any of the foul names the other members called him.

After that night, the night that he'd switched sides, his mark continued moving. If anything, it moved more viciously than before, causing him physical pain with its angry thrashing. It was as if Voldemort knew, which the Order assured Draco he didn't, that he had betrayed them all. Even his own father. His mark still moved wildly, squirmed and crawled until that fateful _Avada Kedavra_ escaped from Potter's lips. Now he could only feel a memory of its movement, etched in his senses forever. Draco just had to remind himself that it was all over. It was all over.

* * *

"Erm, actually Harry, that's where you're wrong," Hermione said smartly, a tight-lipped smile spread across her face. "I won't be going back there today. Or tomorrow for that matter. Or the next day. Or the next. Or..."

"Hermione," Harry practically shouted, cutting the brunette off mid-sentence. "Yes, you are going back there. Today, in fact." At her protests, Harry raised both hands. "I just bought you breakfast, so you owe me."

"As if I couldn't have paid the four quid, Harry, honestly. You can't guilt me into this." Regardless of their banter, Hermione actually loved Saturday mornings with Harry. Having both grown up in the Muggle world, it had become a sort of odd tradition of theirs to go out and have breakfast at a nice Muggle café before starting their day. Hermione was having second thoughts about this morning, though. Harry had been trying for the past half an hour to convince Hermione to go back to the Manor, even after her encounter with Draco yesterday.

The two walked lazily along a walk surrounding a lush green park. The sun was shining after days of rain showers, and Hermione was glad to be getting the fresh air.

"Hermione, please. I know you're upset about yesterday, but quite honestly, I don't see the big deal." _Trust a man to take it lightly, _Hermione thought to herself. "Alright, whatever, it was bloody horrible what he did," Harry said, reading Hermione's expression. "But that still doesn't mean he's not a decent guy. He's been nothing but nice to me and Ron these past years, and he really is a good man. Sure, it's deep down, but it's still there."

Hermione snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "Good man? Yeah, that'll be the day, Harry."

"Fine, Hermione. I won't try and persuade you to go back anymore. Just leave your job unfinished, half done. I mean, it's never happened before; Hermione Granger always gets the job done. But it was bound to happen eventually..."

* * *

Hermione cursed Harry Potter under her breath as she stood at the front door of the manor. Against all her better judgement, she had decided to come back to this hell-hole. She couldn't leave the job unfinished, now could she? With any luck, the curse was almost broken and she could move through the other rooms at a much faster pace.

Hermione heard the loud tolling of the doorbell inside the manor as she pressed the large button. The door swung open to reveal a very disheveled Malfoy, wearing a ratty white teeshirt and flannel pajama pants. His right eye was squinted unattractively against the sun and his flaxen hair was sticking up in odd directions. Hermione stifled a giggle unsuccessfully.

"Sorry to have waken you from your beauty sleep, Malfoy," Hermione stated sweetly. "Lord knows, you need it." Malfoy grunted and Hermione pushed past him into the all-too-familiar Manor. "I'll just be in the library then. I aim to have this little problem of yours solved by the end of this afternoon, so please don't distract from my work." Malfoy was too quick not to notice the flash of recollection in her eyes. _So, _he thought to himself, _she can't forget it either._

Hermione made her way up to the library, ignoring the feeling that someone was staring at her bum, outlined rather nicely in her black pencil skirt. As she made her way down the hall, her fingers slowly dragged along the walls and various portraits of Malfoys past. There was a painting of a woman shockingly similar in looks to Narcissa, although the two were not related by blood. There also was a portrait of Lucius, looking as severe as ever. Hermione let herself into the library and began her work again.

Her eyes slid closed at one point, and she found herself in some sort of trance, the murmurs of her own spell work meshing with the sounds of her memories._ Effrego vacuus is domus_, the pained scream squeezed harshly from the throat of a dying Anthony Goldstein. _Permissum is cella exsisto in pacis, _Harry's fast words as he told her that Voldemort was gone, forever. Hermione's eyes snapped open as the door to the library creaked open and her words caught in her throat. She took a deep breath as she realised the familiarity of the situation.

Draco strolled into the room calmly, hands stuffed into the pockets of his newly donned expensive-looking jeans. The dark part of Hermione's mind screamed out that he looked amazingly attractive in his casual black polo, his grey eyes clouded over with some unreadable emotion. Her common sense got the better of her, though, and she was immediately angered that the insufferable prat had decided it was perfectly fine to disturb her.

"_What_ do you think you're doing," Hermione spat out. Her eyes bore into Draco intensely as a hurried prayer that things would not turn bad ran rampant through her mind.

"As it seems, I'm sitting in my library," Draco said calmly, aggravating Hermione even more. "I'm thinking about reading one of my personal favourites, _Crime and Punishment_ by Dostoevsky. Perhaps you've heard of it, Granger?" Draco had been expecting the eye roll that followed his words.

"Of course I've heard of it Malfoy. It's a _Muggle_ book and I'm a _muggleborn_, remember? And I thought I told you not to disturb me!"

Draco smirked. Smirked his trademark Slytherin smirk, and held back a laugh. "Well, _darling, _I'm sorry to break it to you, but in case you've forgotten, this is _my_ house. I will go where I please and do as I please regardless of your silly demands," Draco said, his voice laced with sarcasm and fire.

"And in case_ you've _forgotten, you're paying me to get this job done. Which will not happen if you continue to interrupt me with your idiotic antics!"

"Idiotic? Why, Granger, I'd only like to read a book! Surely you, being the great bookworm that you are, could at least support that."

"Oh shut up, you disgusting ferret!"

"Now, Hermione," Draco said calmly, watching as the woman in front of him cringed at his use of her name. "Is that any way to speak to your employer?"

Hermione let out a bark of laughter. "No, but I find it's the perfect way to speak to a stuck-up bastard and _former _employer. I quit!" Hermione's eyes widened and fear could be found swimming in the chocolate orbs. Draco had risen from his seat and was now stalking over to her place on the floor. Rather roughly, he yanked her to a standing position by her thin wrist.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Granger," Draco whispered, his voice raspy and cruel. His face was mere inches from her own, and she was caught like a deer in headlights. His molten grey eyes locked with her own darker ones, not allowing her gaze to flicker anywhere other than where it was.

"Why wouldn't I," Hermione bit out, refusing to give-in to the sense of fear that was slowly overcoming her. Her voice was strong, but she was feeling the very opposite.

"Because of this." And with those words, Draco's mouth was crashing down over her own, stunning her completely. She froze as his mouth worked against her own, seemingly blind to the fact that she was not kissing him back. It wasn't until he bit down roughly on her bottom lip that she was startled into action.

Years and years of pent up anger and frustration and hate came spilling out of Hermione's lips. The kiss turned quickly into a battle of dominance, tongues fighting for entrance into the other's mouth, caressing, teeth clattering together, biting. Her small hands found their way into his silky locks, pulling and tugging aggressively, causing the man to groan into her mouth. His larger hands found her hips and pushed her backwards until her spine brushed against the spines of books. Hermione's back arched and her chest pressed into Draco's own as he sucked pleasingly on her lower lip. His fingers entwined in her thick curls and he pulled her head the side, exposing the pale column of her neck to his eager lips. Placing open-mouthed kisses along her neck, Draco paused to nibble at the juncture where her shoulder met her neck, to drag his teeth along the lobe of her ear. A moan flowed from Hermione's lips and a voice that she swore wasn't her own rasped out his last name.

Her pale hands dove under the fabric of his shirt, fingers skimming over lean muscle and smooth skin. Nails dragging lightly over his nipples, she reveled in his gravelly moan. Dragging his face back up to her own, Hermione's mouth captured his own once more before she finally pulled away. Their breathing was ragged and harsh; Hermione closed her own eyes to fight the burn of impending tears. She didn't open them again until Draco angrily pulled himself away from her, stalking out of the room and slamming the door on his way out.

What the fuck had just happened?


	3. Chapter 3

**Breaking**

**Disclaimer: **Everything 'Harry Potter' belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for your continued support! I don't imagine this story being too much longer, but I would like to draw the tension out a bit! Not exactly sure yet where this is headed, but I'm thinking towards the undoubtedly happy and fluffy side. Maybe not yet, though.

"I just don't know what to do, Gin," Hermione mumbled tiredly over her steaming cup of tea, "I just don't know what to do anymore." Her slender hands idly plucked at the crimson handle of her tea cup, seemingly not strong enough to bring the liquid to her lips. Hermione had dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes and Ginny knew she hadn't been sleeping much, if at all. Well, who _would _be able to sleep when they couldn't even tell how they felt? Ginny glanced absentmindedly around the small café before peering through the dim lighting at her frail friend.

"And you haven't been back for two weeks," Ginny asked delicately, not keen on upsetting her friend further.

"No, I haven't been able to bring myself to do it. He's sent owls, oh, he's sent owls," Hermione said dryly, "but I haven't gone back to the Manor. I mean, would you do any different?" At Ginny's look, Hermione retracted her statement. "Okay, you would. Regardless, you are not me, and I definitely am not harbouring intense hidden feelings for the man." Ginny's mouth opened with an impending retort. "I'm not, Gin! The only feeling I have for Malfoy is hatred, and that most definitely is not hidden. So stop giving me those looks, as if I'm your latest romance novel."

Ginny just sighed and held her tongue. What was the use? She'd already told Hermione what she thought of the situation, but somehow hot, steamy make-up sex did not seem to please the perplexed girl. Instead, Ginny just stared wearily at the girl in front of her, watching her cautiously sip at her cup of tea. Why wouldn't she just admit it? Why couldn't Hermione, for once, go with the way things felt, rather than what was the 'sensible thing' to do?

"I think I need to be getting home now, Gin. I've taken another case, and I'll be needing to read up on some curses." Hermione slid from her chair and dropped a couple of notes onto the crude plastic table. Ginny shook her head before rifling through her purse for the few pounds to pay Hermione back. "Whatever you say, Hermione dear. Owl me when you figure things out, alright? Or when you wake up next to Malfoy, whichever happens first."

* * *

"I just don't know what to do, Blaise," Draco mumbled tiredly over a glass of his father's most expensive brandy. "I just don't know what to do anymore."

"It's not a bad thing, you know, mate," Blaise said, taking a gulp from his own glass. He would need it tonight; Draco was having a full blown pity-party for himself. Blaise had shown up sometime after dinner only to find Draco still in his pajamas from the night before. _Always the drama queen_, Blaise thought to himself, reaching over to grab the somewhat full bottle of brandy. He definitely needed a refill.

"Oh no, it's a terribly good thing! Running away from a woman after I much-more-than-kissed her, well, I'm not sure I've ever done anything so _good_ in my life." Draco snorted after his sarcastic comment and downed his glass of liquor. "Especially muddy Granger. Jesus, Blaise, tell me how this is good." The blond's eyes slid closed as his pale fingers massaged his temples rhythmically. The warm, blazing fire crackled in the background and Blaise stared deeply into the bluest of flames before starting.

"First off, I hardly believe you still see Granger as 'muddy'. I doubt that you've seen her that way since she hit puberty. Secondly, what I meant by what I said, was that it is not so bad to have fallen in love with Hermione Granger. You could've done much worse. And regardless of what your father may have force-fed you, she's a more than decent human being. Quite lovely actually, if you get past the enormity of her hair." Blaise made a motion around his head with his fingers before pointing at Draco, whose eyes had snapped viciously open at the word 'love'. "If you ask me, it's been a long time coming."

"Well, I didn't ask," Draco growled before standing up to pace the darkened study. "Love, Blaise?! You've got to be joking. I don't love Granger. I don't! What happened, hell, what happened was the result of unresolved tension between the two of us. I'll admit that much. But to go as far as to think I have feelings for the girl? Well, to be quite honest, that's absolute bullshit. She's so far below my standards; she'd never live up to the expectations of the Malfoy family. I don't love her, like her, even lust after her. I don't, Blaise, I don't."

"I don't need to be convinced, Draco. Sounds as if you do, though."

* * *

Hermione was ready to _Avada_ herself. Ready to _Avada_ herself right there, in front of Draco's front door. Yes, that's right, Draco's door. At the Manor. Where she had sworn she would never return.

By some stroke of unluck, Draco had informed Hermione's boss of her lack of attention on his case. Within minutes, her obese and sweaty boss had flooed to her flat, flabby arms waving about erratically as he screamed that she must return to work, the very next day at that. Sucking up her pride, Hermione had dragged herself out of bed that morning before apparating herself to North Wiltshire, where the Malfoy Manor was located. Now, as she stood anxiously at the door, Hermione realised that she'd much rather be six feet under than be back in Malfoy's reach.

"Well look who finally returned," an all too familiar voice drawled from behind the open mahogany door. Draco stepped closer to Hermione, leaning nonchalantly on the doorframe. His arms crossed, and Hermione ignored the definition of muscle that couldn't be hidden by his Oxford grey cashmere sweater. The man's style was impeccable; everything he wore screamed expensive price tags and designer labels.

"Are you going to allow me in, or would you rather just stare at me all day," Hermione bit out icily. "Because if that's the case, I'll just send a photo and make it much easier for the both of us." Reluctantly, the blond before her stepped aside and she hesitantly walked into his house.

"I don't see why you had to tell Murdock," Hermione continued, stalking across the foyer to the grand staircase. Her hips swung determinedly in a womanly way that she couldn't control as she strode towards the stairs. Hermione began up the stairs, only to spin around seconds later to face Draco, who had just muttered something at her retreating form.

"What did you just say to me," Hermione ground out, her hands settling on her hips in a menacing way very reminiscent to Mrs. Weasley. Draco shrunk visibly before her, and he quickly jut out his chin in the proudest way he could manage. There was no way Granger would instill fear in him; he was a Malfoy. A _Malfoy_.

"I said nothing, Granger. Quit being so batty," Draco said casually, a pathetic cover for what he had said only moments ago.

"Tell me what you said, Malfoy," Hermione whispered, her voice sharp and acidic. "Tell. Me. Now." Draco closed his eyes, silently praying that everything would remain intact.

"I said," Draco began, almost unsteadily, "I said 'last time you questioned me, look where we ended up, you bitch.'" Within seconds, Hermione had flown down the stairs, advanced and Draco and shoved her simple oak wand into his leanly muscled chest.

"Perhaps you're back too soon," Draco spit out, a look of contempt gracing his aristocratic features. "Might I remind you, _Miss_ Granger, that you're here to do a job. Not to get yourself arrested for assaulting the man that employed you." Hermione's eyes closed to mere slits, and her icy tone matched his own.

"And might I remind _you_, Mr. Malfoy, that this stopped being just a job as soon as you molested me." Hermione once again set off towards the stairs, only to be pulled back harshly by long fingers wrapped around her left elbow.

"Molested, Granger, is that it," Draco asked coldly. "I didn't force you to kiss me back. In fact, I believe I had you moaning my name. Surname of course, but if pet names are your thing..."

"Oh you absolutely vulgar creature," Hermione's shrill voice spoke before she yanked herself from his grip. She briskly walked away from Malfoy, leaving him standing quite alone in the over-decorated entrance hall. He couldn't find the strength to move until he heard the library door slamming angrily closed in the above corridor.

* * *

Hermione dusted imaginary dust from her modest black slacks as she stood from the floor of the library. Inhaling deeply, she rubbed her chilled fingers together rapidly before exiting from the room. She'd been practically locked in that stupid library for hours and was now cold and cramped. Hermione wanted nothing more than to break into a quick sprint and get out of the Manor as quickly as her legs would take her. Closing the library door almost silently behind her, Hermione crept down the corridor, avoiding the owner of the Manor at all costs. It was late and she just wanted to be home in her lounge clothes, curled up with a good book.

That would not be possible though, as Hermione saw Malfoy as soon as she reached the top of the steps. Exiting from one of the various drawing rooms surrounding the entrance hall, Draco walked with Blaise, laughing heartily at whatever the darker-complected man had just said.

"Honestly, mate, that's what she said! I kind of wanted to shove her out of my bed, right then and there," Blaise continued his story. "But I thought of how ungentlemanly that would seem, so I simply asked her to leave." Draco set off laughing again but stopped short as he caught sight of Hermione who had been sneaking down the stairs. She'd only made it half way down before he had noticed, and she cursed herself silently for her horrible stealth tactics.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd died up there, Granger," Draco said smartly, earning a glare from the woman. "But that would be wishful thinking on my part, wouldn't it?" Blaise rolled his sapphire eyes at his friends antics, and took a few steps in Hermione's direction.

"I'm sure what my friend meant to say is that he's grateful to have someone like you helping him with this little problem," Blaise said suavely, hoping to quell any anger and prevent an outburst from either Hermione or Draco. All hopes for such ceased when he noticed the fire in Hermione's eyes burn even more violently as she glared at his best friend. "Well Draco, Granger, I was just on my way out. Nice seeing you both." Blaise turned cautiously before hastening towards the door.

"Oh, Blaise, it's fine, I was just about to leave, actually," Hermione said as she pushed past the tall, Italian man. She seemed to be in just as much of a hurry to leave the Manor as he was.

"No, Granger, we need to talk," Malfoy spoke finally, his voice demanding and emotionless.

"Yes, Granger, you stay, please. I was about to take my leave anyway." Blaise turned once again to the door. Two small hands shot out and grabbed a hold of his biceps, stopping him in his tracks.

"_Stay_, Zabini," Hermione ground out, her eyes piercing and cold.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, ordering my friends around like that, in my house," Draco said incredulously from a few feet away. Hermione hadn't noticed his approach; she'd been much to focused on escaping.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, speaking to me like that?!"

"Blaise can leave if he'd like, you little cow. I can't believe you'd be so rude to a guest of mine. This is my house, not yours, Granger. Obviously, I mean, take a look around." Draco motioned to the grandeur of the room with his hands, his trademark smirk spread across his face.

"Oh you haughty snot! If you thought for a moment I'd spend more time with you than I'm already being forced to, well, you're sorely mistaken." Blaise found himself being roughly shoved aside as a small form with wild hair pushed by him towards the door.

"You're not going anywhere, Granger," Draco spoke, his voice quiet and unrelenting. Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, frozen by the intensity she heard in Draco's tone. "Not until we've spoken, at least. There are some... things we need desperately to work out." Hermione pivoted around to face Draco, her lips curled in a tight smile.

"In case you've not noticed, Malfoy, I'm not an animal. You can not command me as if I were one. I'm leaving, and I hope never to speak with you again. I'll be back when I find the time." With those words of parting, Hermione was out the door and apparating as far away from the Manor as she could get. Blaise remained standing by the door, hands shoved into his pockets, whistling almost silently a Weird Sisters' tune.

"Well, I think it's time you ask her on a date, mate."


End file.
